


the maddest man this town has ever seen

by Onlymystory



Series: masquerade revelers [1]
Category: Trust (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, for a certain interpretation of the concept, i really don't know how to tag this story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymystory/pseuds/Onlymystory
Summary: "The only surprise about his next move is that this is the first time he’s made it in these last six months. His hands are on Primo’s face before he can consider that he shouldn’t make this mistake again--as though Primo can ever be a mistake--pulling him to him, kissing him like if he reaches deep enough inside, he can save them both."An extended exploration of Primo and Leonardo's relationship, set in episode 10 mostly, kind of at the end of ep 9. This is just a story of fucked up people who love each other and don't know what to do with that, but are stumbling their way through.SPOILERS for Trust. If you plan on watching this show and don't want to be spoiled, don't read this fic yet.
Relationships: Leonardo/Primo Nizzuto
Series: masquerade revelers [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975684
Comments: 15
Kudos: 68





	the maddest man this town has ever seen

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Taylor Swift's "The Last Great American Dynasty" because if anyone can be described as "having a marvelous time ruining everything" it's Primo Nizzuto.
> 
> Also fuck all y'all who have watched this show and didn't warn me about how much Primo gets under your skin. I feel like a tortured soul, so emotional all the time. Fucking Luca and his acting skills.

“Primo,” says Leonardo. 

He keeps driving back down the mountain road. Away from the Getty grandson. Away from this mess. 

“Primo,” he says again.

Primo ignores him, keeps driving. 

“Answer me,” demands Leo. “Look at me! Damn it, Primo, he’s going to kill you. You know he is going to kill you!”

And finally, finally Primo stops driving. He pulls the car up against the mountain, turns it off, and looks at Leonardo. “Yes, he probably will.”

Leo wants to shake him. How can he be so cavalier? How can he act like nothing is wrong, like he didn’t just challenge their boss, like all of this will be for nothing if Primo is dead? 

The only surprise about his next move is that this is the first time he’s made it in these last six months. His hands are on Primo’s face before he can consider that he shouldn’t make this mistake again--as though Primo can ever be a mistake--pulling him to him, kissing him like if he reaches deep enough inside, he can save them both.

It’s not enough, not close enough, and Leonardo’s moving to sit astride Primo in a moment, to press closer until he doesn’t know who he is apart from the other. It’s not the most comfortable position, his head presses against the roof of the car, but he can’t bring himself to care. His entire focus is on the taste of Primo’s tongue against his, on the familiar feeling of his hand around Primo’s cock, then the desperation he feels when Primo’s hand pushes his out of the way, wraps around them both, and strokes in steady motions until they are both coming and the only thing Leo can do is beg, “Primo, Primo, Primo.”

It takes him more than a minute to pull away and Primo lets him take his time, only grinning at him, those devil eyes teasing as always.

Primo licks his fingers clean and turns the key in the ignition, pulls the car back on the road. “It will be okay, Leonardo, it will all be okay,” he promises, but he still lets Leo intertwine their fingers and hold on tight all the way down the mountain.

* * *

“You need to remember the story,” says Primo as Leonardo exits the car, looks at his house with trepidation in his heart. 

Regina will be worried when he tells her about today. And he will tell her. He will tell her all of it, because she knew his heart when she married him, knows it pulls in three directions. To her, to Francesco, and to Primo, though the devil himself may hold the rope. She was not surprised the first time he told her and she does not get angry, though it’s been years since something of this sort happened.

Years since he let Primo worm his way under his skin again. It was easier when they were separated, easier when Primo was away. 

Perhaps that was part of her worry, perhaps she could see around the next bend in the road because she wasn’t the one in the car, at the mercy of someone else at the wheel.

Now he has to tell her and worse, he has to tell her that Don Salvatore is going to kill Primo and the words will mean something. Not the way he has said it in the past, in that sense of someday Primo and his fucking ideas will get him killed. A joke, though a bad one. When he said it then, it was casual, like speaking of a foolish boy, and he ignored the tiny pang of his heart at the idea and the little voice in his mind that said it wasn’t really funny.

But now he must say it and mean the words, now he must think about the truth of it. 

Don Salvatore will not stand for the push back. The logic of Primo’s words may have been sound, but it was the culmination of weeks of pushing back. Primo choosing to trade for the boy. Primo insisting they would pay instead of killing him and cutting their losses. Primo with the ideas. Primo insisting on returning Paul.

Leonardo’s mind remembers Primo dancing at Francesco’s confirmation, at the challenge in his eyes. Yes, this mess was always going to end with death. 

At least, he thinks, he will not have to mourn for long. His soft spot for Primo is not well-known, but Salvatore has always suspected. It was, after all, him who introduced Regina, who said she will be good for you in a tone that assured him he had no choice in the matter. 

His speech about Francesco getting out will not have been forgotten either. Between the two, he is a marked man, as is Regina. Salvatore might have killed her that day in the barn for her words. Primo on the other hand...it is not that Primo respects her, in the sense that Primo respects very few people, but he likes her and he likes that she hates Don Salvatore as much as him. 

They will all be dead, just as they are at the cusp of something better. 

“Leonardo,” says Primo, his voice cutting in sharp against his thoughts. 

When did he start crying, thinks Leonardo, and wipes an arm across his eyes. “What Primo?” he asks, voice betraying his emotion and exhaustion.

Primo smiles at him, that damned smile that started all of this so many years ago, that damned smile that is going to be the end of him. 

“Remember the story,” says Primo and drives away.

* * *

Several weeks later, Primo breaks into the house and for a moment, Leonardo thinks this is it, Salvatore has come for them. But it is only Primo.

As though only could ever describe Primo.

Then he says the words, the words Leonardo never expected to hear. “To Salvatore...May he rest in peace.” And while he questions, pretends to have a moment of concern, he cannot help but feel overwhelming relief. There is a burden lifted now. A burden placed the day Don Salvatore’s hand rested on his shoulder at this own confirmation, telling him he was a man now, and Leo knowing what that meant. 

He’s only ever felt this relieved twice before; the first time Primo kissed him, when it felt like something equal, instead of Primo letting him experiment and explore. The second was when he told Regina about Primo and she had kissed him and forgiven him and said all she needed was that he loved her too and did not bring her shame.

“I listen,” says Primo as he explains.

Of course, he does. He listens and he sees more than most people give him credit for.

So Leonardo listens too. Of a plan for a port, of an influx of money that is not about being pissed away on pleasure, but invested back into their people, into their home. 

Regina appears in the doorway when there are no sounds of gunshots or fighting. “Primo,” she says wearily. “Is there another errand that you need my husband for at this ungodly hour?”

Primo pours her a glass. “We are drinking,” he tells her, “to the passing of Don Salvatore.” He pauses while Regina fumbles the glass and looks to him for reassurance. “And I thought I would stay,” he finishes.

Regina tips back the glass, silent as she swallows and looks between them. “I am going back to bed,” she says finally. “I will turn the radio on quietly, for a little music. Do me the courtesy of letting that be all I hear,” she says, not breaking her gaze with Primo.

Leonardo watches as Primo finally tilts his head down in acquiescence and Regina leaves.

* * *

Primo keeps his word. He waits for the sound of the music and the bedroom door to shut before he switches to sit on Leo’s lap. Primo kisses like he always does, teasing but insistent, leaving Leo chasing for more and more and more. 

Primo rides him in achingly slow movements, rocking against him, mouth pressed against his to swallow the sounds. His long legs still reach the floor, keeping the chair from scraping against the ground. It shouldn’t feel like such a respectful thing, this effort of Primo not to make noise while Leonardo fucks the man he loves and his wife sleeps in their bed. 

But it does matter. It is why he has, for so many years, been loyal to Primo first and to Salvatore only insofar as it protected those he loved. 

He kisses back, pulls at Primo’s hair so he moans against him, the noise only just cut off, and Leo gasps and pants into Primo’s throat when he comes. His hands bring Primo the rest of the way, his desperation and need barely silenced.

He’s beautiful like this.

* * *

“Did you remember the story?” asks Primo, when they are somewhat put back together. When Primo sits back in his chair, legs spread, looking well-fucked and Leonardo looks his fill.

Leo looks at him, an eyebrow raised in question.

“That the Getty boy told.”

“The story of the goose? Yes, but what of it? You know as well as I do that he did not lay so many golden eggs as we might have thought.”

“Silly Leo,” returns Primo. “You misunderstand the lesson.”

“Teach me,” he replies and gets the harsh, desperate kiss he expects for such words. 

Primo is panting but otherwise unruffled when he pulls back. “The boy was a golden egg,” he answers. “But who was it that found the egg and had the patience to wait for it to hatch?”

Leo twists his fingers in Primo’s hair and pulls him back in for another kiss before he answers. “So you are the golden goose?”

Primo grins against his lips. “It is a good story, no?”


End file.
